So this is a really short update, sorry. I've been having trouble getting back into the swing of this fic, and I really didn't want to leave everyone hanging too long. There's so much I have planned, I just gotta get the story moving.

Thank you for all the alerts and favorites, and especially the reviews. You guys are amazing, but you already knew that ;)

I hope you enjoy this chapter, and just keep in mind I'm going off of how things seem to work in the show, even if it doesn't seem realistic "in real life". Also, I'm aware of the fact I haven't answered a huge question a lot of you guys had after reading the last chapter, but that's coming up in the next one, I promise ;)


Chapter 4

There's a dip in my bed, but I'm too wound up to react like I normally would. I don't even flinch when I feel my father's hand on my back, rubbing in gentle circles; in the way my mother does when I'm like this. He pulls the pillow from over my head and I let him, too exhausted to put up any sort of fight.

If I wasn't so angry, I might have been impressed that I'm able to let him get this close to me without my freaking out. As it is, all I can think about is my mother, and the baby that shouldn't be here. The baby that was meant to be my replacement.

00000

"San," my father speaks softly, his body shifting further onto the mattress so he's sitting alongside me. "Why are you really upset?" he asks, and I sigh, turning my head towards him. His hand is still rubbing soothing circles on my back, and I find myself unconsciously inching closer to him. "Is this about what happened at school today?"

I nod, slowly turning so that I'm on my side now, looking up at him through a curtain of bangs. In this position he can't reach my back without leaning over me, so instead he begins to brush my hair from my eyes.

"What do you remember?" he asks.

I think back to the last memory I have of this morning and frown, recalling the conversation with Brittany and Quinn. "I was uh, I was walking in the hallway and... someone... dumped something on me?" I ask, scrunching my face up as I try and make sense of what I do remember. "It was really cold."

My dad nods and leans back so he's resting against my headboard, his hand still playing in my hair. It occurs to me then how close my face is to his lap, and I pull away, feeling nauseous. "It was a Slurpee, or a slushie, whatever it is you kids call it," he tells me, pretending he hasn't noticed my recoil.

I reach behind my head, finding a multicolored stuffed unicorn that Brittany had given to my parents to give to me while I was still in the hospital. Pulling the plushie into my arms, I wedge it securely between my face and my father.

"I don't understand," I tell him through the spiky rainbow mane.

He shrugs and sets his hands in his lap, understanding that to touch me now would be too much for me.

"Your friend Quinn tried explaining what had happened when your mom and I got to the school, but to be honest, I wasn't really paying attention. I think throwing these slushies on new kids is some sort of freshman hazing."

"I was hazed?" I ask, raising a brow even though I know my dad can't see my face.

"No, I think it was the boy that was being hazed. You were just his vi-" he stops short, but it's obvious what he was about to say.

"His victim? You can say it dad, it's not going to freak me out," I respond, muffling my annoyance in the unicorns soft, white fur.

There's a few moments of strained silence, where I think my dad's going to start crying, but instead he sighs and rests his head back in order to stare up at my ceiling. "Do you remember what happened after he threw the slushie on you?"

I roll onto my back and stare up at my ceiling as well, squinting to try and make out the faint glow of the few stick-on stars that hadn't fallen off in the ten years or so since my father and I had painstakingly placed them up there.

"I blacked out," I respond eventually, already knowing in my heart that I'm not going to like hearing what I may have done afterwards.

"Your friends, I guess, heard what was going on, and they got to you and tried to help you," he starts, still looking up at the stars on my ceiling.

"And?" I ask when it's apparent he's not immediately going to continue. "Dad, you can tell me. Did I say something revealing? Did I wet myself? What?"

He looks down at me now, his expression only confirming what I've subconsciously been fearing. "You didn't mean it honey, and Brittany knows that. She's not mad."

Letting go of my unicorn, I pull myself up so I'm sitting across from my dad, my face contorted in agony. "Papi, did I hit her?" I ask, barely above a whisper. I already know the answer, but I need to hear it from him.

"Mija, like I said, she knows you didn't do it on purpose. That you were just scared and reacting on instinct."

It's all I need to hear before I'm scrambling off the bed, frantically searching my room for my sneakers. I need to see Brittany. I need to see what I've done to her, and explain to her that it had nothing to do with my being angry at her for not telling me about her boyfriend.

"San, you can't go over there now, it's the middle of the night," my father explains, and I glance at the alarm clock on my nightstand, frowning at the bright red, glowing numbers. It's past nine, and I know Brittany's parents don't like visitors this late.

"Where's my phone?" I ask, suddenly worried I might have lost it in the chaos earlier in the day.

"It's on your desk with your school bag," my dad tells me from his spot now perched on the edge of my bed. I know he's struggling with wanting to get up and help me, but am thankful he's keeping his distance. I can't deal with reassuring him right now. He wasn't the one I had hit.

Grabbing my phone, I immediately feel my chest tighten at the sheer volume of missed calls and txts. Flipping it open, I scroll down to the bottom of the list and select the first message. It's from Quinn.

"Brittany's fine. Nothing's broken, but we're taking her to the hospital just in case. It's not your fault."

Not surprisingly, her reassurance at the end does nothing to quell my mounting distress over the simple fact that, not only have I hit my best friend, but I've apparently hit her hard enough to send her to the hospital.

I feel light headed all of a sudden and stagger my way over to my computer chair, curling myself into the seat as I begin to read the next message. This time it's from Brittany, and it has a photo attached to it.

"theyr givin me the good stuff San! c it doesnt evn hurt!"

The photo is taken at an awkward angle, and only shows about half of the girl's face. But what is visible, makes my stomach turn. There's blood coating most of Brittany's mouth and chin, yet despite the obvious split in her swollen lower lip, she's still grinning excitedly at the camera.

"Oh God," I whimper, covering my own mouth with my hand in shock. I quickly switch to the next message, relieved when I see it's from Quinn, and that there's no picture attached.

"OMG San I can't believe she sent that to you! It's not that bad, honest!"

The next txt is from Quinn as well, but this one does have an attachment. In this one Brittany is still grinning at the camera, but the blood has been cleaned away; the injury to the girl's lip hidden behind a column of temporary stick on sutures.

Even though the damage seems to be superficial, and contained mostly to Brittany's lip, I'm still not reassured. Regardless of the degree of damage, the fact still remains that I've hit my best friend in the entire world. In the face.

"See, it's really not that bad San. Please don't blame yourself. We know you didn't mean it."

I shake my head as I reread Quinn's txt, wanting desperately to believe her. If I'd not been so angry at them moments before this happened, I might have had an easier time trusting her words. But the truth is, I had been angry. And at Brittany, specifically.

The next group of txts are all from Brittany, and I read through them quickly, my eyes tearing up even though I'm trying my hardest not to laugh.

"Luv u sanny! xoxoxoxoxoooo cu at scool tomoro! ill bring the drugs!"

"nm! Q says i cant bring drugs 2 scool!"

"omg mcdreemy is tlking 2me rn!"

"y do boy nurss were pink?"

"hallp san mcdrmmy shottd me"

"y hedloo at san"

"i dullvu uuo"

I start crying at this point, and my dad gets up from his perch on my mattress and slowly crosses over to me. "Honey, it's not your fault," he reiterates what my friends have been saying, and I shake my head at him, unable to put into words that I'm not crying because I'm upset.

I mean, yes, I'm still upset. But Brittany's txts are so very clearly Brittany. It's like, even though she's older, and has a boyfriend, she hasn't changed. At least, not in the ways that really matter. In the ways that caused me fall in love with her in the first place almost three and half years ago.

Because even though I was the reason she was sent to the hospital, she'll still continue to txt me, doing whatever she can to make me feel better; to make me smile. She's still the same person she was back then. She's still Brittany.

"Mija, there's something else I need to tell you," my father interrupts my thoughts and I wipe at my eyes with the back of my arm, clutching my phone tightly in my other hand. The tone of his voice is alarming, and I try my best to calm down and focus on him.

He gets down on his knees now in front of me, and tentatively places a hand on the corner of my chair. Whether it's to steady himself, or me, I'm not sure. "Because of what happened this morning, since it happened on school grounds..." he's trying his best not to look at me, but I lean forward and place my hand on his cheek.

The gesture surprises both of us, and our eyes instantly meet just as he finishes telling me my fate, "you can't go back to school tomorrow. Honey, you've been suspended."